The Passing Bell Tolls for Thee

22 Master or Mistress

Ben spent the next day talking to the shepherds, Geoff, the police, and April. He grilled April again and again, until she rolled her eyes, put her teacup down, and stood up.

"I've told you everything I know happened, Ben," she said. "The dog and the llama sensing something in the little woods near the Lodge. The noises and disturbances here. Finding Nico by King's Oak. If anything else comes to mind, I'll let you and the police and Bill and Geoff know. I'm going for a walk."

"I'm not finished with you, young lady." Drew shouted, standing up and pounding a fist on the office table.

Her jaw dropped, then closed. She took a step closer and glared at him. "Don't talk to me that way again, ever, in my house," she said, in a quiet, steady voice. "You're not master here. I'm mistress, at least temporarily. If I can't keep Oakton, then, you'll be master, and good riddance to you."

"No one speaks to me like that in my..."

"In what?" she interrupted, crossing her arms. "I. Am. Mistress. Here."

Drew scowled and his fists clenched. He saw her glance at his fists and forced himself to open them. He longed to slap the impudent chit again and again. No one had spoken to him like that in 362 years. Those who had, paid for their arrogance. You'll pay, April, want-to-be Mistress of Oakton. You'll pay with your life, he promised himself.

"Who do you..." he stopped, think you are? he thought. You, not I, are Mistress of Oakton, at least until Ostara when your young body becomes my new vessel. Ben's heart pounded and he wriggled his fingers, trying to relax them.

April glanced down at his hands again, then stared at him. She stepped back from the table. She would throw her teacup at him, and the chair, if necessary, and scream for Mrs. Bigwood if he touched her or threw anything.

Drew felt an unfamiliar emotion—fear. This transition was by far the worst. Ben had a temper, and his body retained the impulses. She wasn't the biddable carer he had trained the last few years. She was coming into her own. He gasped for breath, forcing himself to calm down.

"Sorry, my dear April, so sorry. You are mistress here and my place is to help you become the best you can." Her eyes narrowed at the smooth words. "I am so concerned with the problems here, for your sake." He nodded, but April didn't smile. "Musselwhite's death, Nico, the financial difficulties from the Pandemic. Still ongoing. We'll find a way through them." He smiled a small smile at her. She didn't thaw.

"Still," he spoke louder.

Mrs. Bigwood poked her head in the room. "Is everything all right, Mrs. Waverly?"

"Mr. Muir is way too distraught over the killing of Nico the other night." She stared steadily at him. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back for dinner. Thank you." She turned around and left the library. She was relieved Mrs. Bigwood had come.

Mrs. Bigwood asked, "Cup of tea, sir? With a drop of whiskey? You look quite alarming." Ben's face was flushed, and a vein beat rapidly in his forehead.

Drew took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Yes, thank you, Mrs. Bigwood. I apologize if I upset you." He forced himself to unclench his fists again. "I am so concerned things are not going as Sir Drew wished."

"Yes, sir. I'll get you a cuppa." She left the library.

He heard clinking from the kitchen. He sat down. April was a wild card. He'd never thought the quiet, inconsequential carer could stand up to him like that. An every day, working-class nobody. Of course, she thinks I'm Ben Muir, not Drew Ramsey, but still, April had been alarmingly bold. And in her rights, he admitted, unwillingly. She is Mistress. He realized she could make his life difficult even though she couldn't remove him from handling the will. Revenge was a dish best served cold, and he would eat his fill.